'
MRS. TORRANCE, foolishly, 'Not when you have got used to them.'
MR. TORRANCE. 'That isn't what Roger means.' (His son glares.)
EMMA, who, though she has not formerly thought much of Roger, is now
proud to trot by his side and will henceforth count the salutes, 'I know
what he means. If you carry a sword the snipers know you are an officer,
and they try to pick you off.'
MRS. TORRANCE. 'It's no wonder they are called Huns. Fancy a British
sniper doing that! Roger, you will be very careful, won't you, in the
trenches?'
ROGER. 'Honour bright, mater.'
MRS. TORRANCE. 'Above all, don't look up.'
MR. TORRANCE. 'The trenches ought to be so deep that they can't look up.'
MRS. TORRANCE. 'What a good idea, John.'
ROGER. 'He's making game of you, mater.'
MRS. TORRANCE, unruffled, 'Is he, my own?--very likely. Now about the
question of provisions--'
ROGER. 'Oh, lummy, you talk as if I was going off to-night! I mayn't go
for months and months.'
MRS. TORRANCE. 'I know--and, of course, there is a chance that you may
not be needed at all.'
ROGER, poor boy, 'None of that, mater.
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